


CHANNELS

by kriegersan



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 05:47:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10530183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriegersan/pseuds/kriegersan
Summary: He shrugged. “No big deal. Everybody likes movies.”“Not the wayyoulike movies.”(1990. Michael and Trevor holed up in a motel in the middle of winter.)





	

_**1990**_

“--oh no, you gotta watch, this, _this_ is my favorite part.”

“You said that about the last five parts where fuck-all happened.”

“Jesus Christ, T, come on man. Can’t you just enjoy the movie?”

“But it’s _boring_ , Michael. No gunfights, no titties, no car chases-- just a bunch of depressive fucks standing around and talking about their _feeeeelings_.”

Michael laughed, setting his empty can on the end table, among the significant amount of its dead brethren. “Ain’t like we got anything better to do. Unless you’d prefer infomercials.”

“And miss out on the opportunity to see you go all starry-eyed in the face of your childhood nostalgia? Not on your life, Mikey. Prime blackmail material right here.”

“You know what, the infomercials sound real good right about now,” said Michael, reaching for the remote.

Trevor smacked his hand down. “I didn’t say I wasn’t watchin’ your shitty movie. Calm those sweet tits of yours.”

Michael looked at him with an unreadable expression, his hand falling back to his chest.

A week ago they’d hit a payday loan joint, and it had gone well enough. At first. A small take and two dead cops later, the two of them were forced to lay low, confined to a shithole motel, save for the odd run to the 24/7 across the street for more beer and whatever microwavable shit passed for food. 

Between the two of them they’d watched more old movie reruns on TV than any man should be humanly forced to. Worse, Michael seemed to enjoy it, torturing him with his encyclopedic knowledge of godawful coming-of-age eighties movies, pulpy emotionally charged melodramas, and slow-moving crime thrillers. At least it got him talking.

It was the middle of winter, late at night. The heat didn’t work in the room, and so they’d retreated into the bed closest to the TV, piling up the yellowing pillows against the headboard to make it as comfortable as it was ever going to get. They were practically shoulder to shoulder, empty cans and boxes of pizza on the bedspread, a pipe crusted with resin next to a half-empty bag of weed. It wasn’t Trevor’s drug of choice, but it wasn’t like they had the means to score anything else. He didn’t mind the sleepy, relaxed look on Michael’s face, anyway, or the way he seemed to lean against him, like he didn’t notice how close they seemed to be getting.

They’d been on the road together for a few months, now. Trevor was still trying to figure out if Michael really meant it when he said he was good. He hated how much he waited on that praise from him. He hated how quickly Michael had gotten under his skin.

“You know, I just don’t get why you like this kind of crap,” said Trevor, slouching lower into the mound of pillows. His arm pressed against Michael’s, feeling the heat through his skin. Michael always ran hot, but he seemed warmer than usual, even in the chill of the room. 

“Oh yeah, says the guy who spends hours watching talk show hosts interview fuckin’ skinheads and neo-Nazis and shit.” 

“Hey, Orpah’s a highly successful entrepreneur! You could learn a fuckin’ thing or two from a woman of her calibre.” Trevor gestured emphatically, realizing he’d had a bit more beer than he’d anticipated. It felt like his hand was moving through liquid, and he could see Michael’s eyes lazily tracking the movement. “That’s real life, M, _real_ fuckin’ issues-- not this melodramatic navel-gazing piece of shit you call a Vinewood classic.”

“Oh come on, _An American Divorce_ is one of the best films ever produced in the golden age of cinema! Well, okay, maybe not _the best_ , but it’s got a lot to say about the state of the American dream, and Sally Sherman, oh, _man_ \-- career defining role right here.”

“Yeah, I guess she’s pretty fuckable. Wouldn’t kick her out of bed.”

Michael laughed boyishly. “Who would you kick outta bed?”

“No, but I’m serious, M. What the fuck do you like about it? Aside from the great Sally Sherman’s perky B-cups.”

“Nuh-uh, T, not givin’ you more material to work with.”

“Jesus, don’t be such a delicate fuckin’ flower about it,” Trevor goaded. He nudged Michael’s knee with his own. “Tell me. Don’t make me beat it out of ya.”

He was quiet for a moment, before leaning forward, picking up the pipe. It seemed small in his broad, square fingers, dwarfed as he turned it deftly into his palm. “Just always liked movies, I guess. Y’know, the real fuckin’ craft behind it. So much shit goes on behind the scenes-- always thought it might be, y’know, _cool_ to be a part of it. And seein’ it all come together, gettin’ that perfect shot. Man.”

Reaching for the bag of weed, he started picking the bud apart, packing the bowl. Trevor pulled his lower lip into his teeth, watching him. He could only see the side of Michael’s face, the light of the TV catching the hard lines of his jaw, his nose, in the darkness.

“It’s like a good score, if you know what I’m sayin’. I mean, instead of picking out guns you got cameras, but needs the same level of meticulous planning; from script to screen, casting, lighting, shooting-- _shit_ , to see all the pieces fall together and produce a quality picture that’ll last a lifetime? With a red carpet, celebrities, awards, all those flashing lights? That’s magic, right there, if I ever seen it.”

Trevor tilted his head, sliding his arm over the back of the headboard, stretching himself out. He took as much room as possible. Michael crossed his legs, hunching over the pipe as he packed the bowl tight with his thumb. “You really know a lot about this movie shit, don’t ya?”

He shrugged. “No big deal. Everybody likes movies.”

“Not the way _you_ like movies.” He leaned forward, pulling the loose fabric of Michael’s sweats tight over his thighs. “I’m sure there’s a stiffy there somewhere.”

Michael weaved, pushing at him. “Fuck off, man,” he laughed. He raised up the pipe, wiggling it in Trevor’s face. “You want?”

Trevor gestured with his chin. “You first, man.”

Thumbing the choke, Michael lifted the pipe to his mouth, reaching for the lighter. He lit the bowl, and Trevor took in the look of concentration on his face as he took a long pull. He coughed, plumes of smoke escaping his parted lips, before he was passing the pipe to Trevor. 

He slid it to his lips almost hungrily, like he could feel his own lips slotting into the imaginary impression Michael had left behind. The cherry was still lit, so he took his own hit. Tilting his head back, he blew the smoke upwards, watching it hit the ceiling and spread outwards, a mushroom cloud in their hotel room. 

He passed it back to Michael, retaking his position against the headboard as his mind started to slow down. He didn’t like the sticky feeling that weed gave him, like the bed was sucking him in, didn’t like it at all. It was all made worth it by Michael collapsing into a heap next to him. He dug his heels in, squirming up the bed until he was tucked up under Trevor’s arm. 

“Your arms are too fuckin’ long,” Michael said, looking up at him. His eyes were red and puffy, dopey looking, his smile relaxed. “Like somebody took you by the fingers and _pulled_.”

“A little thing called life, Mikey. Stretched me thin enough to snap.”

“That explains a lot.” Michael chuckled, before his eyes wandered back to the TV, like he didn’t notice that his head was almost pillowed on Trevor’s chest. Trevor wasn’t going to mention it, anyway, wasn’t going to move or do anything to alert him to just how cozy he seemed to be getting against him. “But life ain’t so bad for you these days, is it? Unless my company’s worse than I thought.”

“You are pretty goddamn miserable.”

Michael just laughed. “I’m sure there’s a saying about that.”

He didn’t know what to do when Michael got all _friendly_ like this. It had been happening more, lately, with the two of them spending so much time alone and isolated together. He couldn’t explain the way it made him feel when he would look over with that slanted grin, those cool, blue eyes. He was so handsy, so tactile all the time, all friendly slaps on the back and brotherly hugs that always seemed to linger. Nobody else touched him like that, like they weren’t waiting for him to bite back like a feral dog.

They’d been wasted, a few weeks back, walking back from a hole in the wall bar, and Michael had reached over and tangled their fingers together, swinging their hands as he talked. Trevor thought he might’ve stammered a little as he’d looked his way, his face flushed in the chill of wintertime. The second Trevor tightened his grip, Michael’s hand had slipped away, sliding back into his pocket. He’d laughed, kept talking, but the tips of Trevor’s fingers stung with the cold.

He didn’t push for it because he didn’t want to push him away. There was so little in his life that seemed to stick, and Trevor liked Michael. He liked waking up to Michael, watching him drift in and out of uneasy sleep on the other bed. He liked watching him palm the steering wheel as he drove. Smoking cigarettes. Just talking, drinking beer. Sharing space with him. He hadn’t really had that before. Hadn’t really wanted it, either, before now.

So, faced with his running buddy shifting his shoulders to tuck himself further into the crook of his arm, Trevor took in a deep, tight breath, trying to tame his excitable energy. He wanted to touch him. With anyone else he would go for it, he was hardly some virgin, but he didn’t know if he was allowed. He didn’t want to risk it, so he stayed completely still, nails digging into the wooden headboard. Stillness didn’t come natural to him, but for Michael, he could manage. For Michael, he wouldn’t move an inch.

“Fuuuuck, I’m high,” Michael muttered, dropping his head back against Trevor’s chest. He settled his own hands on his sternum, his position relaxed, even if Trevor felt like he was on a bed of nails. 

“Lightweight.”

“Shut up.” He gestured to the screen loosely, flicking a look up at Trevor. “Oh, hey, this scene-- this was actually all improvised. Richards left it in the film ‘cause he liked it that much.”

“Yeah? That normal for this kind of shit?”

“Nah. That right there’s what separates a two-bit chump with a camera from a bonafide, legendary filmmaker. Sure, you can have a script, have everything squared up beforehand, but if something organic like that happens in the moment, and you just _roll_ with it-- that’s what _means_ something.” 

“Kinda like you and me, huh?” said Trevor, jostling Michael a little with his arm, “Back at that checks cashed joint. We, y’know, _improvised_.” 

“Two dead cops ain’t exactly comparable to a scene about a kid and his depressed dad eatin’ ice-cream, but yeah, shit. Sure, we ‘rolled’ with it.”

“Same deal, Mikey! We worked with what we were given, and we made the magic happen.”

“Oh yeah, three K and blood on our hands. Fuckin’ fairy dust.”

“No, but you and me, man,” said Trevor, grinning. “That’s magic.”

Michael smiled. “Something like that.”

His attention drifted. Michael watched the movie. Trevor watched Michael’s lips as he mouthed each line, like he knew it off by heart. He probably did. Trevor wondered how many times Michael had stayed up late as a kid with his parents passed out in a liquor-haze on the couch, ear pressed to the TV, the volume low, not wanting to disturb them for fear of retaliation. Everything he’d heard about Michael’s childhood in the passing, self-deprecating remarks just sounded so damn lonely. His heart ached thinking about it.

Maybe that was why this worked. Tentative closeness. He still couldn’t figure out of Michael was ever really serious about it, not that Michael was rarely ever serious about _anything_ , save for money. His honesty came out only when lubricated heavily with booze or blow, in quick snatches that Trevor held onto as cautiously as he would the kind of fine china he would never, ever own. Trevor wasn’t that good at other people, but he was learning how to be good at Michael. He watched him intently, taking in the shift of expressions across his face. How light his eyes were, mapping out the images onscreen.

“ _‘I loved you once Tony, but there's nothing between us_ ,” Michael said along with the film, barely audible under his breath. “‘ _’Now that I know--_ ’”

Trevor snorted. Michael stopped, rubbed at the side of his neck, his head slipping off of the precarious position on Trevor’s chest.

“What?” Trevor said, mentally kicking himself. He hadn’t wanted him to stop.

“Sorry,” Michael said, sheepishly. It was so unlike him, usually cocky and confident in all ways, the behavior was practically a shining beacon for Trevor’s immediate attention. “Just, y’know-- I get into it.”

“Hey, man, I’m not judging! Everybody’s got their thing. You’ve got your tired ass movies and I’ve got--”

“Drugs?”

“You think you’re pretty fuckin’ funny, don’t ya?” Trevor said, reaching over to flick Michael in the back of the head. Michael swatted at him in retaliation, missing as Trevor settled his arm back against the headboard. “If you weren’t busy bein’ such a smart-ass it’d be _obvious_ , Mikey-- flying.”

“Both, interestingly, involve getting high.”

His eyes narrowed. Like Michael didn’t regularly blow his half of the take on coke. “Think you’re bein’ a little judgmental there, Mr. Booger Sugar?”

“Hey, I’m just giving you shit, man. Too easy to rile you up.” He reached over, patting Trevor on the leg. His hand lingered a second too long, before shifting back to his chest. “But no, yeah. Stupid, but-- it’d be kinda cool, I guess? Y’know, workin’ on a movie. I know it’s never gonna happen, but a guy can dream. Dunno what the fuck I’d even do, can’t write for shit, and acting? No fuckin’ way.”

Trevor made a thoughtful sound. “Hey, it could happen.”

He scoffed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but it ain’t gonna happen.”

“No, man, I’m not fuckin’ around. You’re the type of man that _makes_ things happen. I’ve seen that look you get when you put your mind to something.”

There was a pause, and then Michael glanced up at him, the look on his face foreign. Unguarded. “You think so?”

That look paralyzed him. He scrambled.

“Oh yeah, Mikey. I know so. And _you_ know I’ll be the first one hittin’ the adult section to see you get your ass reamed when you finally make your gay porn video debut!”

He laughed, jabbing him in the ribs. “Oh, fuck you.”

Trevor reached for his hands, Michael’s palms feeling sweaty in his hold. “Dunno, M, you don’t particularly strike me as the one doin’ the fucking.” 

He sat up abruptly, grinning wickedly at Trevor over his shoulder. “You don’t shut your fuckin’ mouth, T, I’ll shut it for you.”

“Y’know you’re really making it real easy for me, here, Mike.”

“Ha, yeah.” He leaned forward, crossing his legs, elbows draped on his knees. His thumb grazed his lips, his eyes turning towards the TV. “That makes one of us, then.”

Trevor stared at the back of his dark head, that thick, short hair he wanted to put his hands through. The strong line of Michael’s spine, his slouched shoulders. Michael’s hand slid to the back of his neck, his thumb digging in, before he hugged his elbow in close to his body. His eyes were forward and foggy, his mouth set, the tips of his fingers white at the base of his nape.

He nudged Michael’s thigh with his knee. “What?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Michael. Come on.”

He glanced back after a pause, shrugging. “Ah-- just, I fucked my neck up playing ball in high school. Sitting on this fuckin’ bed for days on end sure ain’t doing it any favors.” 

“Why the fuck didn’t you say somethin’ before?” Trevor reached for him, his palm flattening out over the center of Michael’s spine, sliding up to cover his hand at his neck. Michael let go, Trevor sitting upright behind him, his other hand settling down on his shoulder. His heart picked up in his throat, as Michael dropped his head, allowing the touch. “Let me help you, brother.”

“Uh, T, you--” His voice dropped, barely audible over the television. “You don’t have to, man.”

“I know I don’t _have_ to, Mike. S’what friends are for, eh?” Besides, the only other person he’d done anything like this for was his mother, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. He _wanted_ to touch Michael. Humming, Trevor dug his fingers into his trapezius muscles, feeling the tension running along his shoulders. “You can relax-- you’re in your good buddy T’s capable hands.”

If anything, Michael’s shoulders pulled in tighter. Trevor dug his thumbs in, shaking him lightly. “ _Mikeyyy,_ relax.”

Michael released a shuddering breath. He still didn’t relax all that much, but it was a start. Trevor massaged his shoulders for a little while, before he moved in closer, situating himself with Michael between his thighs. He didn’t press himself fully against Michael’s back, not wanting to chance it, but Michael didn’t pull away when their legs touched, either.

His thumbs followed the divots of Michael’s vertebrae, eyes following the movement, pressing down hard at the base of his skull. Michael let his head down heavily at the mercy of his hands, Trevor’s fingertips kneading at the tense muscle cording thick down the back of his neck. His fingers ghosted the collar of his wifebeater. He wanted him to take it off, wanted to feel bare skin, but he wouldn’t ask. Instead, he bit the inside of his lower lip, until he tasted blood.

His hands worked in silence until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“You’re fuckin’ tighter than a twelve year old Catholic schoolgirl.”

“Jesus, T. Seriously?”

“Hey, I’m just sayin’! You’re all tensed up. We need to find a more productive way for you to work out some of that stress!”

Michael looked over his shoulder at him, but avoided his eyes. “Well-- we got anymore beer?”

Trevor vaguely grunted the affirmative. He leaned over to the other edge of the bed, halfway crashing into the comforter overshooting his reach, Michael grabbing his leg to keep him anchored. He fished the last two cans out of the case, sitting back upright to pass Michael the first. He left the other on the bed, unopened, his palms flattening out against Michael’s back, his skin warm and slightly damp through the threadbare fabric. 

He cracked the beer, throwing his head back to down most of it in one go. Trevor chuckled, his eyes drawn to where some of the liquid leaked from the corner of his mouth, before Michael was lowering the can, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. 

He set his hands back on Michael’s shoulders, dug his fingers in. “What the fuck you got to be so worried about anyway? You were just sayin’ earlier how shit ain’t so bad.” 

“What, bein’ broke, on the run from the law and hiding out in the fuckin’ filthiest roach motel I’ve ever set foot in is your idea of ‘ain’t so bad?’”

“You said it first, cupcake.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about.”

Trevor shook his head, worrying a knot in Michael’s right shoulder. “Then maybe you should stop talkin’.”

Michael glanced at him, then turned his head away. “Maybe.”

He wanted to say that the alternative, that being alone and stranded on the road was far worse than being broke and on the run with him. He wanted to say that he would’ve gone anywhere in the world, as long as it was with him. But he didn’t. 

“All I’m sayin’,” Michael started, his voice low, “is I don’t wanna be doing these small jobs forever. We gotta get a crew together, make some real dough. I wanna build a reputation for myself, you know?”

“Yeah, man, I want that too.”

“I just want something that matters,” he murmured. “Something I can be proud of.”

Trevor tongued the teeth impression on the inside of his lip, felt the sting. He wanted to be the kind of man that could make Michael proud. He would help him build his legacy, so long as he could stay beside him. It wasn’t much to ask. Michael owed him that much.

He stilled his hands, his fingers spread wide over the breadth of Michael’s strong, broad shoulders. He coughed, patting him brusquely. “How’s that?”

Rolling his neck experimentally, Michael nodded. “Thanks, man-- feels better. Appreciate it.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t get all fuckin’ weird about it.”

“Whatever you say, T.” He chuckled, then downed the rest of his beer. The can was thrown uncaringly off the edge of the bed, the remaining liquid arcing as it sailed through the air, spots speckling across the television. It dripped downward, blurring the screen. He didn’t move to clean it off, staying in his cross-legged slouch. “Ah, shit.” 

He snorted, leaning back into the mound of pillows, setting his elbows on the headboard. “Like you were even watching anymore. You’ve probably seen this a hundred times.”

“Yeah, but I want you to watch. You gotta see the ending, man, it’s the best part.”

“So get over here,” said Trevor, a bit too eagerly. He cleared his throat. “Your fat head’s blockin’ the TV.”

Michael huffed. “Yeah, in a sec.” He picked up the pipe where it’d rolled over on the bedspread, spreading ash. He gestured to him, but Trevor declined, forcing his expression neutral. 

He wanted to keep his head on straight, for once, didn’t want to do something he’d regret, even when Michael seemed to be numbing himself out entirely. Possibilities flooded his mind. He didn’t want to risk it. For now, he stayed frozen as Michael went up in smoke.

The air rushed out of his chest as Michael slouched back against his side, boneless, his head dropping down heavily against his ribs. The edge of his arm stayed pressed against Trevor’s side, hand next to his outer thigh, and he pushed his leg up into it. Michael’s palm turned, his little finger edging the pant leg of his sweats.

Michael closed his eyes. Trevor nudged him. “You’re not fallin’ asleep on me, are you?”

“Nah,” Michael said, “Just waiting for the room to stop spinning.”

“Well, idiot, maybe if you hadn’t chugged a beer and followed it with a dope chaser.”

“You’re the one that told me to relax.”

“And... are you relaxed?”

“Define ‘relaxed.’” Michael squirmed up higher on the bed, until his head was fully cushioned in the indent of Trevor’s shoulder. Breathing in steadily, Trevor could smell the shampoo in his freshly washed hair, the scent of clean sweat and his beer breath. Michael rolled in towards him, his front pressing tentatively up against Trevor’s side. “There-- you’re bony as shit, man.”

“There _is_ a whole other bed right over there, Mikey,” Trevor said. It wasn’t like he wanted Michael to go, but giving him an out he didn’t take was proof he wanted to stay.

Michael gave him a slanted look, shrugging a shoulder. “It’s fuckin’ cold in here.”

He didn’t mention how hot Michael’s skin felt through their clothes, or the blanket just beneath them. He didn’t move his arms, either, as Michael slid a leg over his own, staking his territory. 

He was testing the waters. Trevor wanted to believe that was what he was doing. Michael came in and went out like the tide, always a little further each time, wearing his patience away like waves beating down on rock. Trevor wanted to go for it, wanted to just turn to him, kiss him, but something held him back. He never gave a fuck what _anyone_ thought about him, but Michael wasn’t just anyone.

If he’d misread the situation, as he sometimes, _occasionally_ was guilty of, he wouldn’t be able to stand it if Michael would walk away. Having him at a distance was better than not having him at all. It wasn’t much of a distance, either, Michael dropping an arm over his waist. His hand stayed slack, palm open against his side, and Trevor chewed the inside of his lip.

“Man,” said Michael, just when Trevor had gotten used to the silence, “even if I never get to work on one, maybe one day we’ll be infamous enough that they’ll make a movie about us.”

“Oh yeah? What kind of movie?”

“What do you think? Fuckin’-- badass heist movie. One where we do a score, a _big_ one, get away with it clean, only to-- I don’t know. Get caught, ratted out or some shit, go down in a blaze of glory, side by side.” Michael cracked a grin, glancing up at him. “Of course, exaggerated for those high and mighty Vinewood types, you know how it is. It’ll win a ton of awards, I’m sure.”

Trevor hummed. “Sounds romantic.”

“Meanwhile, the real you and I will be livin’ it up somewhere sunny with our millions--”

“--layin’ on a bed, with you probably talkin’ through the fuckin’ movie just like you’re doing now.”

Michael chuckled. “I thought you didn’t care about the movie.”

“I don’t.” Not the movie, anyway.

The film ambled towards its conclusion. Outside the window it had gone almost completely white, hints of the red neon motel sign barely visible through the snow. Michael still talked, like it would distract from the way they were pressed together, how it was becoming more difficult for Trevor to ignore the weight of him against his body. Michael was fucking cuddling him. 

His fingers twitched. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to touch him and risk alerting him to his own behavior. Or maybe Michael was trying to get him to push for it. He wasn’t good at this _feelings_ shit, he had no idea what Michael wanted him to do. He had no idea what _he_ wanted to do. Just holding him would be enough.

“Who’d play us?” Trevor said, instead. He tried to ignore how breathless he sounded to himself. “In our shitty movie.”

“Probably get some Vinewood pretty boys.” Michael gestured non-committally, his fingers skimming Trevor’s side. “An unknown for you, and a gifted-- yet underrated-- up-and-comer just waiting for his big break for me, of course.”

“Uh-huh. Don’t think they’ll find someone who could do you justice, though.”

Michael looked up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah-- difficult to accurately convey _just_ how full of shit you are, M.”

He laughed as Michael jabbed him in the gut, his hand flying off the headboard to grab him by the wrist. Michael pulled, trying to free himself from Trevor’s grip, but only succeeded in dragging the arm over his body, until Trevor was almost embracing him. They tussled for a bit, Michael halfway on top of him, until Trevor lowered his other arm around Michael’s back, pinning both arms to his sides.

“Real smooth, there, slick. Now you’re trapped.”

“Ah, fuck you, you got an unfair advantage. I’m fuckin’ wasted, man,” Michael laughed. He didn’t try to move away, though. He turned his face into Trevor’s chest, and he could feel his breath warm through the fabric. 

“Wasted, or just weak?”

“Whoa, yeah, okay there, tough guy.”

“You’re the one all snuggled up in my big strong arms, sugar. You tell me how tough I am.”

There was a pause. He listened to the noise of the TV that seemed distant, somehow, Michael’s muffled breathing beneath. He felt Michael set a hand on his chest, until he’d pressed up onto an elbow, peering down at him. Trevor’s hands remained on either of Michael’s shoulders, and he had to force himself to not just drag him down, take his mouth.

For a moment, Michael just looked at him. Trevor stared unflinchingly back. He wanted Michael to kiss him so badly. Michael just had to make it so fucking _difficult_. He just had to burn into his life like a wildfire, had to blow in on a cloud of smoke and dust, changing everything for him. _Everything_.

Then, Michael looked away, chuckling. He jabbed Trevor almost pathetically in the side once more, and slid off of him, still remaining tucked into his arm. His laughter weaned off into a sigh, his head dropping heavily against Trevor’s shoulder. He didn’t reject the hand draped over him, though, his own moving to wipe over his mouth.

“I, uh-- I told you it was cold, man,” Michael said, through his fingers. His eyes weren’t visible, downcast as they were.

“Yeah, whatever,” muttered Trevor. He pulled his arm tighter around Michael’s shoulders, his fingers grazing the line of his clavicle. “How much longer is this goddamn movie, anyway?”

“Not much longer.”

Michael seemed to be holding his breath. Trevor slipped his hand lower into the stretched collar of his wifebeater, the fabric rough against his knuckles. He felt Michael’s heart thrumming against his fingertips, his fingers carding through his chest hair. He drew in a steady breath, focusing his eyes on the television, not wanting to look at him. Michael made a soft sound, his shoulder shifting to let his hand slip lower, but he didn’t say anything. Neither of them spoke.

He barely noticed as the movie finished, rolling into the credits. He was so focused on how damn good it felt to hold Michael like this, touch his skin, how he didn’t want it to end, that he only reacted when Michael looked up at him. “So? What do you think?”

“Think about what?” Trevor asked, cautiously.

“The movie, T.”

His heart sunk. He swallowed, sure it was showing on his face. “Sure was... a movie.”

Michael clicked his tongue. “Fuckin’ lost on you, man.”

“I didn’t say I regret watching it with you or nothin’-- just don’t _get_ it, I guess.” 

“Uh-huh,” said Michael. He planted a hand, sitting upright. “Just like I said-- lost.”

It felt like a part of himself had been removed when Michael pulled away. He wanted to pull him back down, but Michael had his chance. If there was ever going to be a moment, it had came and passed. It wasn’t completely unheard of just to want to hold somebody in the absence of other human touch, anyway. They’d just been holed up together too long, it was only natural to want to touch somebody else without meaning it _that way_.

Like so many other things in the tragicomedy of his life, it just wasn’t meant to be. No matter how many times he told himself to get used to it, he could never stop getting his fucking hopes up.

Reaching behind his head, Trevor pummeled the pillow he was propped up against into submission. Michael hazarded a glance back at him, scowling. “The hell are you doing?”

“I’m getting _comfortable_ , Michael, you _stupid fuck_ , what the fuck does it look like? _Jesus_.”

Michael regarded him with an illegible look. Trevor’s gut twisted with an immediate sense of regret at his open aggression. 

“Oh, yeah,” Michael said, with an uncomfortable chuckle. “Guess it’s pretty late, huh?”

“Real late,” he deadpanned, looking away.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Michael nodded. “Should probably try and sleep, or whatever.”

“Do whatever the fuck you want, M.”

“Okay. Sure, Trev.”

He got off the bed almost too quickly, the mattress dipping beneath him as he moved. Foot catching on the edge of the bed spread, Michael tripped, catching himself before he fell. He swore under his breath, then stumbled off towards the bathroom. Trevor listened to the sound of his knuckles bumping against the wall until the light came on through the crack in the door, murky yellow light spilling over the opposite wall. 

Trevor slouched down into the bed, his fingers curling and uncurling against his sides. He half considered going after him, pushing him up against the sink and kissing him like he’d wanted to before. Instead, he stayed still, his face darkening as he spiraled further into self-doubt.

He grabbed the unopened can of beer off the bed, hurling it at the lamp in the corner, knocking it into the wall. The light went out in a spark, the cord ripped from the outlet, casting the room in abstract shadows. He knew he was acting like an asshole, and the knowledge of how irrational he would probably seem pissed him off even worse, so he ripped up the blanket, practically burrowing beneath it. He heard the pipe hit the carpet and roll, empty beer cans and balled up plastic lost to the floor with it.

Trevor put his hand over his face. He felt like a complete asshole, but he didn’t know how to stop it.

The light flicked off, and Michael stepped back into the room. “The fuck was that noise?”

“I turned off the light,” Trevor said, flatly, the words muffled into his fingers.

He could see Michael’s head turn towards the downed lamp in the corner. He made an exasperated sound. “No shit, huh.”

Passing the television, Michael turned it off, the room almost completely dark. Trevor rolled onto his side, not wanting to face him. The neon sign outside washed through the window, red light bleeding through the thin fabric of the blinds. He watched the snow fall through the cracks, sighing as he heard the other bed creak as Michael slipped beneath the covers.

“Night, then.”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t look at him.

He was so used to Michael leading things, to him taking charge. Sure, sometimes Michael needed a push to make the difficult decisions, but without his guidance it made it hard for him to figure out what to _do_. He should’ve just kissed him. He had the fucking chance and everything, Michael had literally been laying ontop of him, and he’d bitched out at the last minute because he didn’t want to lose him.

He was Trevor Philips. He wasn’t afraid of anything. Well, almost anything. He didn’t trust himself not to say or do anything that would make Michael look at him differently. He didn’t trust himself to handle something without breaking it. Everything he cared about always seemed to shatter apart in his fingers. So he laid there, angry, knowing that sleep wouldn’t come to take mercy on him. He half-considered storming out in search of something harder than beer or weed, but he didn’t want to leave Michael alone, either.

The minutes stretched on. He rolled onto his back, running a hand through his hair, gripping it. He couldn’t help but steal a glance over to the other bed. He looked away as soon as he realized Michael was facing him. 

He held his breath. The last thing he wanted Michael to think was that he was some kind of fucking weirdo who just stared longingly from afar. Michael already probably thought he was weird, for fuck’s sakes. Everybody thought he was weird. Nobody liked him. Eventually Michael was going to figure out how worthless he was, and he was going to be alone again, nobody wanted him, and--

Trevor pulled at his hair, closing his eyes tightly. The slight spike of pain made it a little easier to draw himself out of the spiral. He forced himself to take a deep, shaky inhale. He heard a shift of fabric. When he opened his eyes again, Michael was sitting up in the other bed. Looking at him.

His hand slipped down to rest over his head. He bit the inside of his cheek. He watched Michael lean forward on his knees, turning his head to glance back at him in the cover of darkness. For a moment, the room was still. Then, he threw back the covers, sliding off the bed.

He listened to the heavy sound of Michael’s feet dragging the floor, before the mattress dipped, Michael sitting next to him. He couldn’t help but tense as a hand settled on the pillow next to his head, Trevor turning his face up to look at Michael, looming over him. He just looked, could make out the furrow of his brow, the way he was worrying his fingers in his mouth.

He lowered his other hand, on the other side of Trevor’s head. Trevor couldn’t help it, his own hand snaking out, his fingers grazing Michael’s side. 

“Hey,” said Michael.

“Hey,” said Trevor. His lip twitched. He didn’t move.

Michael stared at him. He opened his mouth and closed it. Finally, he said, “I-- Christ, I don’t do this kind of thing, I--”

He leaned down over him. Their noses touched, his breath fanning warm over his face. Trevor gazed at him, they were so close, his fingers gripping into the fabric of Michael’s shirt. He wasn’t letting him go this time. 

It took everything in his power to stay perfectly still when Michael’s lips pressed against his. He was gone just as quickly, his head dropping next to his on the pillow, his breathing rough against his ear. 

Michael pulled back, looking down at him, his eyes unguarded. “I don’t know what to say right now.”

Like he had to say anything. Trevor’s hand skimmed up between them, his fingers hooking into the collar of Michael’s shirt, pulling him down. He pushed up onto the other elbow, bumping his nose against Michael’s, gazing at him openly. When he kissed him, and Michael kissed him back, he almost wondered if he was dreaming. It wouldn’t be the first time.

It felt real. He opened his mouth, coaxing Michael to do the same, his hand creeping up the front of his throat. He cupped his jaw, so strong and masculine, tilting his head to slip his tongue inside, needing to taste him. The hesitant sound Michael released made it worth it. He wanted more.

The springs creaked as Michael shifted, pushing the covers back with one hand, before he was moving down overtop him with a bit of encouragement. He seemed apprehensive, at first, until Trevor grunted, a hand working down his back to grab a handful of his ass, pulling him ontop of him. It felt immediately warmer with their bodies touching, even through layers of clothing, but Trevor didn’t want to stop kissing him. Not right away, at least. He had a lot of things he wanted to do to Michael.

Michael’s hands stayed agonizingly planted on either side of his head, Trevor’s own moving over his neck and shoulders, digging his fingers in. He loved the noises he was drawing out of him, the way he would pause just to breathe into his mouth, his hips settling down on top of his own. He could feel Michael’s cock thick against his leg, and he chuckled, pulling his knees up to cage Michael in, like he could keep him there forever. 

Their mouths separated with a wet sound, Michael reaching over his shoulder to grab a handful of his shirt. Trevor moved to help him, pulling it roughly over his head, before doing the same with his own. Chest to chest, bare skin, he wanted him closer, his hands sliding up Michael’s strong back, his fingers skimming his ribs. Michael finally moved his hand, his palm hot against his cheek, turning his face up to kiss him again.

Trevor’s hands traveled down Michael’s chest, unable to resist with so much skin bared to him. His cock twitched as his fingers grazed his chest hair, and the noise that Michael made against his mouth when his palm skimmed over his nipple piqued his interest. It hardened against the flat of his hand, so he took it between his thumb and knuckle, pinching just a little too harshly. “Fuck,” Michael said against his mouth, kissing him harder. 

He didn’t let up with his hand, Michael starting to grind against him, the room starting to get hotter. He’d never been one to take it slow, but he wanted to catalogue every reaction he could evoke out of him, wanted to see everything Michael had to offer. Trevor nipped at Michael’s thin lower lip, felt his fingers dig into his jaw, before his broad palm was sliding down his neck. He pushed down on his trachea, Trevor swallowing reflexively against it, before Michael was moving down the side of his face, his mouth dragging wet kisses down his jaw.

Trevor groaned as Michael’s mouth sealed around his pulse point, his teeth setting on the skin there. He cupped the back of Michael’s head, running his fingers through his thick hair, holding him there. He knew he was going to have bruises at the end of this, dark marks that he would treasure, marks that meant Michael cared about him. He sucked in a breath through his teeth as Michael bit down hard, clutching him close against his body.

His hands slid lower, thumbs hooking into the waistband of Michael’s sweats. He kissed the top of his head, whispering, “Get these off.”

Michael nosed along his throat, before nodding, reaching down to work them off. He knelt back, Trevor doing the same, until they were both completely bare before one another. It was hardly the first time he’d seen Michael naked, but it was different, Michael holding the base of his cock in his hand, looking down at him, eyes scanning every inch of his naked body like he didn’t know where to start.

He reached for him. “C’mere, sugar.”

He settled down atop him, his body heavy and reassuring. Trevor reached down between them to adjust his cock, until it was laying flat against his belly, Michael’s weight pressing down against it. He hummed, digging his fingers into Michael’s shoulder, massaging as he worked his way back up to his neck, retaking his mouth. They kissed, moving against one another until he could hardly stand it, reaching down between them to touch Michael’s dick.

It was thick in his hand, bigger than his own. He curled his fingers around it firmly, stroking him. Michael pushed his hips into his grip with a low noise, and Trevor swallowed it hungrily. He wondered if it would be too much to ask Michael to fuck him. If it was too early. He wanted more, but pushing Michael too fast too far-- he could settle for just kissing if that was all he wanted. He would take anything he could get from him.

A big hand curled around the base of his throat and Trevor gasped, feeling Michael put just a bit of pressure down. He let go of Michael’s cock, his hands moving upward to cover Michael’s wrists, until he was pulling his hands away. Trevor grinned, looking up at him, at his hazy expression. He pressed a harsh kiss to his mouth, before he was slinking downwards, dragging his mouth down the center of Trevor’s chest. His fingers slipped down after him, raising goosebumps on his skin, until they were framing his hips, Michael on his knees between his legs.

He could hear his blood roaring in his ears with excitement as Michael lowered down to his elbows, and he had to force himself to stay still as he felt teeth sink into the jut of his hip. He slid his hands down to touch Michael’s shoulders, tracing up his neck to the back of his head. If it were anyone else he would’ve just pushed, they already knew where this was heading, and even if Michael seemed more familiar with this than he would’ve thought, he was hesitant. He liked Michael taking charge, Michael taking care of him.

“Fuck, Mikey,” Trevor said, his voice rough. “Come on.”

Michael glanced up at him, his hand shifting from his hip, combing through his pubic hair to grip the base of his cock. Trevor bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes unable to move from where Michael’s tongue slid out to taste the tip of his cock. He wasn’t cut like Michael was, but that didn’t seem to deter him. Trevor had a guilty thought that maybe Michael had sucked cock in prison. His head dropped back on the pillow as Michael’s mouth wrapped more firmly around the head, and he groaned, wondering if maybe he’d been forced. If he’d wanted to do it. The way he took him deeper with no preamble, he didn’t seem entirely inexperienced.

He liked to think his was the first that Michael willingly put in his mouth. He wanted to believe that this was special to Michael, somehow. His hands moved over his neck and shoulders, his head, just wanting to feel him as Michael started moving on his dick. He felt his hand shift lower to massage his balls, and he pulled his knees up to give him more room to work, setting his feet flat on the bed. 

God, Michael was sucking his cock. It was too dark to make out details, but he could see his eyes closed in concentration, his cheeks hollowed as he took him deeper into his mouth. Trevor caressed the side of his face, Michael making a low noise that went straight to his dick. “Slower,” he murmured. He wanted it to last.

He flattened his tongue, working his way up to the tip of Trevor’s cock, the foreskin pulled back to reveal the swollen glans. For a moment, he just teased the head, Trevor’s nails digging into his scalp at just how over-sensitive he felt. He’d paid women to hurt him, fucked girls high on meth in the bathrooms of seedy clubs, let men have him in back alleys where Michael wouldn’t know, but here he was about to fall apart just from Michael’s strong hand at the base of his dick, his tongue dipping into the slit. It felt like so much more.

Opening his mouth, Michael took the head of his cock between his lips, working the rest of his length with a steady hand. Trevor’s self-control dwindled, until he was pushing on Michael’s head, his balls pulling up tighter as Michael rolled them in his palm. His breathing came heavier, faster, and as much as he wanted to hold on he couldn’t help himself. The only warning Michael got was a punched out groan, his nails digging into Michael’s scalp as he held him down, wanting that mouth on him as he came. 

Michael sputtered, trying to pull away, but Trevor held on. He could feel Michael gagging, but it just felt so fucking good, and he didn’t even care if he swallowed, his muscles tensing as he rode the last of it out. When his hands finally slipped back, Michael pulled away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Dude. Fuckin’ gross.”

“The fuck did you think was gonna happen, idiot?” Trevor said, fondly. Michael shot him a look that made his heart dip in his chest.

He pulled at Michael’s shoulders, urging him upwards. Michael crawled up the length of his body, settling on top of him, leaning into his hands as Trevor grazed a thumb over his jaw. When Trevor arced upwards to kiss him, Michael opened for him, and he could taste himself on his tongue. 

His lips were swollen, felt plush against his own, and it gave him a little thrill to know that Michael had gone down on him without him asking. He kissed him eagerly, lapping at his mouth, as Michael started to roll his hips against his. His cock was hard and leaking where it was trapped between their bodies, and he wanted to return the favour. He wanted Michael to know that he was worth keeping around, that this was _worth_ it. 

Setting a hand flat on Michael’s chest, he pushed at him, rolling him onto his back. He stiffened, seemed apprehensive at first, but as soon as Trevor offered his neck, he attached his mouth, abusing the thin skin over his jugular. Like he wanted to mark him up, visible proof that it had happened. Michael’s big arms wrapped around his back, holding him in place as his mouth made suction sounds against his neck.

He reached down between them for Michael’s cock, slowly jacking him off as Michael moaned for it. He was more responsive than Trevor would’ve ever imagined, but maybe it was just the booze, the weed. He wanted to see what other noises he could wring out of him. He pulled himself loose from Michael’s hold, grabbing his wrists to put them up over his head. His fingers grazed Michael’s mouth as he settled back on his haunches, and the anticipatory look in his eyes spurred him on.

“Well, look at you,” he murmured, working his hand on his cock.

Michael flushed, covering his eyes with one hand. “Trev, shut the fuck up.” 

Trevor grinned crookedly. He reached down to touch his own cock, which was starting to show interest again already. Michael got to him like that. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of the hand covering Michael's face, before kissing down the front his throat, nuzzling at his chest. He smelled good, his skin tacky with sweat, as Trevor mouthed at his pec. He heard Michael suck in a sharp breath as his tongue slid out to flick at a nipple, before sucking it into his mouth. 

He’d wanted to do this since the first time he’d seen Michael shirtless, months ago. His chest was just so… perky. Every time he got too cold, it was like torture for Trevor trying not to look. Finally being allowed, he abused one nipple with his mouth, his fingers moving to its twin, switching between them until Michael was practically shaking beneath him. He knew he was being rough, but feeling them hard and swollen in his mouth and Michael’s wide palm moving to cup the back of his head made him feel comforted, somehow.

Giving one last firm bite, one hard enough to make Michael’s muscles tense beneath him, he moved on. He couldn’t help but press his nose into the hair under his arm, holding his bicep back to get his face in deeper, breathing deep. Michael laughed, but didn’t stop him. “You fuckin’ weirdo.”

He nosed his way down Michael’s belly, dropping a kiss onto his navel. His stomach was softer, but still solid as the rest of him. Michael’s hands tries to push him lower, like he was self-conscious, like he didn’t like the attention. Still, Trevor's fingers dug into his sides, his face rubbing the hair leading downward. 

Hovering over Michael’s cock, he licked his lips as it twitched, precum drooling from the head. He only pressed a small kiss to the crown, listening to Michael swear under his breath, as he bent lower to push his face into the pubic hair at the base. The scent of him was so concentrated, heady and masculine, and Trevor groaned, shouldering Michael’s thighs apart. 

Hand wrapping around Michael’s cock, he moved lower, sucking one of his balls into his mouth. Michael went quiet above him, the only sound was his tightly controlled breathing, as Trevor set his other hand under one of his heavy thighs. He pushed, Michael hesitantly easing his leg up, doing the same with the other.

Trevor looped his arms under Michael’s thighs, releasing the testicle in his mouth to look up at his face. “Jerk yourself off, sugar,” he said, relishing in the confused look he received. Michael’s hand slid down his body to grip the base of his cock, and he arched back as Trevor’s tongue dipped lower, teasing the space under his balls. 

He used his palm to move his sac, his other hand reaching to spread Michael’s ass. He didn’t wait, flattening his tongue over his hole, feeling Michael clench against him. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” Michael hissed, voice cracking, his toes curling. His hand shifted back to his mouth, and Trevor heard him spit into his palm, before it was moving slick around his cock.

Michael’s legs fell open, his hips canting upwards. Trevor made a needy sound, licking steadily over his hole, his hands gripping his ass to spread him wider. He closed his mouth over the ring of muscle, sucking hard, before narrowing his tongue to press into him. He felt Michael tense and adjust against him, but his hand didn’t stop working over his cock, his breathing ragged above him.

He didn’t stop, fucking his tongue in and out of Michael’s ass, his thumbs dipping in, spreading him open. He teased the pad of his thumb in closer, until it was almost dipping in, Michael’s thighs shaking on either side of his head. He could feel his muscles starting to tense, his hand moving faster on his cock, Trevor pushing his tongue in deeper, his nose pressed hard against his taint. 

When he pressed his thumb in, up to the first knuckle, Michael choked, coming, his hips arching off the bed. Trevor circled his tongue around where Michael’s ass was stretched around his thumb, breathing raggedly as he felt Michael jack the rest of his orgasm out of himself, cum leaking down his fingers. Michael’s hand started to slow, and Trevor eased his thumb out, kissing and licking at his hole. 

“Weird enough for ya, Mikey?” he murmured, dropping one last kiss to his perineum. 

“Jesus Christ, T,” Michael wheezed.

He chuckled, easing himself onto his elbows to kiss at Michael’s shaking inner thigh. He was still breathing heavily, his hand wrapped at the base of his softening cock. Trevor moved higher, licking at his fingers, Michael extending them to allow him to suck his release off. He cleaned Michael up with his tongue, licking the last of it off the tip of his cock, then sitting upright. 

Michael put a big hand over his face, shoving him away when he moved up to kiss him. “Man, you just had your face in my ass.”

“You weren’t complaining before,” said Trevor, grinning, even if he felt a bit rejected. He gripped Michael’s wrist, pulling his hand down to kiss his knuckles instead.

“Go wash your fuckin’ mouth out,” Michael sighed. 

Rolling his eyes, Trevor slid off the bed. He padded over into the bathroom, kicking away empty cans in his path. He flicked the light on, wincing as his eyes adjusted. Catching himself in the mirror, his eyes traced the circle shaped bruises on his neck, the teeth marks. He grazed a finger over one, his heart fluttering in his chest. Michael had left those. Michael had made those marks on him on purpose.

He pissed, washed his hands and mouth. Flicking the light off, he wandered back to the bed, suddenly a little unsure. Michael had turned away, onto his side. He was still in Trevor’s bed, but maybe he needed space. Maybe he’d just been drunk and horny, wanting a physical release. Sleeping together was different.

Standing awkwardly at the end of the bed, Trevor cupped his bicep with his hand. He looked between the two beds.

After a moment, Michael raised his head, waving him over. “T, what the fuck are you doing? Get over here.”

Trevor faltered for a moment, before stepping over towards the bed. Michael turned over onto his back as he slipped under the covers, before he was being pulled into his arms. They kissed lazily, for a bit, until Michael pushed him onto his side. His chest was warm against Trevor's back, his arm heavy around his waist. 

He laid there, stunned. This had really happened. Michael’s knuckles grazed up his arm, his breath warm, moving the hair at his nape.

“Hey, M?” he said, quietly.

“Yeah?”

“In your movie,” Trevor murmured, “about us. You think they’ll leave this part out?”

Michael laughed. He didn’t answer, pressing a kiss to the back of Trevor’s neck.

**Author's Note:**

> HIGHANDHOLY.TUMBLR.COM


End file.
